Chiasmata
by prone2dementia
Summary: In which Harry Potter wages war on MI6 and terrorists, courts Jack Starbright, and adopts her charge Alex as his own—not in that order. And it's all Draco Malfoy's fault. Twoshot.


_Notes: DH epilogue non-compliant, Scorpia Rising non-compliant. And don't worry, this isn't a romance story—it's a story with a bit of romance. ;)_

_Many thanks to iamlordmoldyshorts for the beta and TheMadHatter'xo for the Britpick; remaining mistakes are mine._

* * *

><p>Chiasmata<p>

Part One

"Okay, let's be honest—your penchant for redheads is disturbingly Freudian, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry scowled half-heartedly into his drink. He couldn't remember its name, but it was of the fruity virgin variety, decorated by both a host of vowels and a miniature umbrella.

"I've dated non-redheads before," he protested, rolling the umbrella's toothpick stick between his fingers. "Also, please stop hanging out with Hermione. _Your _penchant for Muggle culture is plain disturbing."

Draco Malfoy merely smirked at him, sidelong. "I'd say 'don't knock it 'til you've tried it', but considering your upbringing..."

Draco gave him a meaningful once over, mock-condescending, and Harry wondered briefly why they were friends. It was, funnily enough (in a way that wasn't funny at all), Ron's fault. Assigned to collaborate on a case together, Ron and Draco had engaged in a series of escalating hostilities that had spilled into their respective domains, the DMLE and DoM. They'd left their coworkers chortling, and Harry had ended up seeing much of Draco as he flitted down the Aurors' halls. When Ron and Draco had finally reconciled, Harry had realized with despair that, not only had he learned to tolerate Draco after so much attrition, he had been conditioned to find the other man amusing.

Harry had rightfully mourned the realization.

He was mourning now: "Anyway, Freudian or not, that girl is way out of my league."

Said girl was sitting a way's down the wharf from them, reading a book while eating a bowl of ice cream absentmindedly. Her shoulders glowed where they were bared in her sundress.

"Chin up, Potter," said Draco. "You're the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort. You're a rock-star—"

"Stop it with the Muggle lingo. It's just not right," Harry despaired, only to be pointedly ignored.

"—and if you need it, I'll be your wingman." Draco said the last word as though it was spewing confetti and sparkles, and Harry shuddered at his salacious wink. The only thing worse than embarrassing himself before a girl was watching the same girl being ensnared by Draco—because, though Draco was still very much a git, he was no longer a pointy one. Girls adored him, Merlin knew why, despite the fact that he was married and did not make a secret of it.

"Please don't."

"Then go say something to her."

Harry stared at Draco. The stare said, 'are you stupid?' "What could I say to her?"

Draco shrugged. "Ask her what she's reading."

Harry was silent for a beat. Then: "Ugh. No. That's stupid."

"Your mum is stupid."

Harry frowned, betrayed, at Draco, who was biting his lip to prevent a childish grin from slipping out. He was failing abominably.

"Okay," said Harry flatly, "now I know you're doing that on purpose to annoy me."

"Am I so transparent?" asked Draco, openly grinning. The question didn't warrant a response. Harry stood.

"I'll go talk to her, but you're scraping up the pieces when she inevitably shoots me down."

"Give yourself more credit, Potter," he heard Draco call as he walked away, and he shook his head in exasperated amusement. Weaving through the small tables arranged along the riverbank, he came to a stop in front of the girl. She was even prettier up close.

"Mind if I take a seat?" he asked, hoping to Merlin he didn't sound like an idiot. She glanced up, surprised, and set down her book. Its title, Harry read at an angle, was _Metternich's Franco-Austrian Policies in Post-Napoleonic Europe*_.

So out of his league, he thought dejectedly, as she cleared her throat.

"Go ahead," she said, waving him into the free chair.

He sat down gratefully. "Thanks. I'm Harry."

She studied him for a moment before smiling. "I'm Jack. And before you ask, that isn't short for anything."

She had an accent, he noticed. American. He found himself smiling back at her. "And you're asked that often?"

"Probably as often as you're asked about that scar," she replied, gesturing at Harry's forehead.

Out of habit, Harry reached up to pat down his fringe. "Touché. You plan on asking?"

"You plan on answering?" she shot back.

Harry's smile grew. Jack's easy-going demeanor was a pleasant surprise, vastly preferable to the rebuff he'd been expecting. "I doubt you'd believe me if I did."

"Try me." Her chin was tilted up in challenge.

Harry leaned back, considering. Then he spoke in a hushed, confiding manner, allowing her to take his response any way she wished. "Once upon a time, there was an evil, magical dark lord. He killed a lot of people. One day, he tried to kill a family, but the mother, who sacrificed herself, protected her son with the power of her love. When the dark lord cast a death spell on him, he survived, and was left only with a scar on his forehead."

Jack was briefly silent. Harry couldn't read her expression. When she finally responded, her words were unexpected.

"Then what?"

Surprised, Harry said, "Well, then he grew up and told the story to a pretty girl, who asked him, 'Then what?'"

She laughed and clapped her hands delightedly. "Bravo, I approve."

Harry was about to reply when a shadow fell over the table. He looked up to find a boy of about fourteen or fifteen sizing him up, and he was hit by a sudden wave of irrational unease. It was so startling that if he hadn't been sitting in the middle of Muggle London, speaking to a Muggle girl (at least, he assumed she was Muggle), he would have suspected Legilimency.

"Alex," Jack was greeting the boy, her smile turning softer, "you're ready to leave?"

The boy gave a short nod, and Harry wondered how he knew Jack. He looked a little old to be her son. Brother, perhaps? Or merely her charge?

Jack stood, tucking her book into her bag, and took out a pen. "Here, give me your hand."

Harry complied, and she caught his fingers, scrawling a number onto the pale inside of his forearm. He regarded the marks with faint shock. When he looked back up, she winked at him.

"I hope I didn't presume too much. Call me if you ever want to tell me the rest of your story."

With that, she breezed away, the boy trailing after her. He watched their figures retreating into the distance before returning to his table, where Draco was giving him a satisfied smirk.

"Smug bastard," Harry muttered to himself.

. . .

His first real date with Jack Starbright went smoothly. So did the second, third, fourth, and fourteenth—and all those in between. Before he knew it, they had been together for two months, and he was debating whether to reveal the truth about magic to her.

He learned that she loved art, loathed cooking, and felt ambivalent toward tax reform. He learned that she had the soul of a bibliophile, the spirit of a teenager, and the inability to feel shame when confronted with the indecent rate at which she consumed bad telly. He learned that her year studying abroad had turned into a permanent stay in London, caring for Alex, whose family had died.

The boy had not warmed up to him yet, which saddened him inexplicably. Perhaps it was because he felt a sort of kinship toward Alex, as he'd lost his parents too, or perhaps it was because he sensed the need for Alex's approval. More than likely, it was a combination of both.

It wasn't until after the fifteenth date that Harry discovered just how _much _Alex hadn't warmed up to him.

Leaving Jack at her front steps and feeling buoyant—which was becoming, pathetically, a rather permanent state for Harry now that they'd started dating—he failed to notice the figure that stalked him through the streets. Night had descended, and the summer scents and sounds were lingering sweetly in the air. He enjoyed them absently as he considered the relative merits of finishing up paperwork later, and his feet led him easily into an alleyway for a clandestine Apparition.

It was hard to see in the dark of the alley, but now, away from the busy London streets, he sensed a presence behind him. And before he could even turn or draw his wand, he was pinned to the wall.

The attacker had a swift, surprising strength. Harry felt the cool metal of a gun pressed into his neck and immediately reached for his wand, abandoning the possibility of overpowering his opponent.

Then the attacker spoke, and his calm, soft voice was so shockingly familiar that Harry ceased his struggling.

"Three background checks—_three—_and not a single trace of you after the age of eleven. Who do you work for, and what do you want from us?" Alex asked in his ear.

Harry was frozen in disbelief. His mind was stuck back at 'background checks', wondering how Alex—a minor who, as far as he was concerned, enjoyed playing football and spending time with friends and, assuredly, _not _engaging in police standard procedures—had the means to run _background checks. _He marveled at the sheer creepiness of those actions, but also had to admit that they were kind of sweet. In his own way, Alex obviously cared for Jack.

The boy continued into the silence, "Is it MI6? Do they want you to keep an eye on us? Is that it?"

Of course, objectively, Harry understood what Alex was asking.

As in, he understood the meaning of the words individually.

But collectively they made no sense_ at all._

Alex shook him. "Well? Is it them? Or are you with SCORPIA? Or someone else?" When Harry didn't answer, Alex slammed his head into the wall. "Answer me."

Harry gave a disbelieving laugh. He was quickly readjusting his view of the boy: Alex Rider was no doubt insane.

Swallowing the urge to advise Alex _not to listen to the voices in your head, trust me, I've had personal experiences with them and they are not fun_, Harry said, "I have no clue what you're on about."

Alex scoffed. "Please, spare me. You can answer, or I can put a bullet in your head. Which do you prefer?"

Harry swallowed. "Okay, really, there must be a misunderstanding or something, because I honestly _don't_ know what you're talking about." Hearing Alex's growl, he hurried on, "I have no idea why you think I'd be with MI6, and I've never heard of SCORPIA. As for why you can't track me after age eleven, well—" He took a breath and braced himself. "—it's because I don't technically exist in your world."

There was a beat of silence.

"What," said Alex.

"This will be hard to believe," said Harry, "but magic? It exists. And magic users—we live in hiding from the rest of the world. That's why nothing turned up in my background check."

More silence.

Harry was actually glad he was facing the wall, because it spared him Alex's incredulity. In the space of those few words, it seemed their roles had reversed. Alex was now the one wondering if Harry was crazy.

"Okay, was I supposed to believe that?"

Harry made a sympathetic noise before closing his eyes, concentrating on summoning enough power for a wandless spell. A moment later, he was free and Alex was Petrified before him. The boy's eyes, still as indecipherable as always, tracked him as he pulled his wand out of his sleeve.

"Watch." He pointed at a pebble on the ground. "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Swish and flick. The pebble rose smoothly into the air and did a back flip before falling.

Harry said, "I'm going to let you go now. Please don't do anything stupid."

He took the spell off Alex, who blinked and visibly shook himself, as though to escape a daze. He then flicked the safety catch on his gun and tucked it into his belt. Harry noted that the motion was practiced.

Actually, now that Harry thought about it, all of Alex's actions during this encounter had screamed _trained killer_. The realization hit him like a Bat-Bogey Hex, and he reeled, his eyes widening as he took in the boy through a new light.

Alex carried himself without the slouch endemic to teenagers, instead poised lightly on both feet, with a relaxed grace that indicated self-assurance but not arrogance. He had an easy, though unheralded, strength, and he knew his way around a weapon—and probably a boxing ring too. He had a healthy respect for authority (the type he respected, in any case) and stood military-straight whenever Jack admonished him. And he was reserved with his words, displaying wisdom well beyond his age.

After a moment, Harry managed to regain a semblance of composure. "I think you owe me an explanation."

Alex was quiet for a moment. Then he said with an unreadable expression, "Sure, but I think we'd better have this conversation back at the house."

When they returned to the Rider residence, Harry explained magic to Jack (whose reaction was both comical and expected, though she did recover to insist that she'd always known about magic), and Alex explained espionage to Harry.

Harry wasn't an angry person by nature. But after hearing what was undoubtedly an abridged version of Alex's situation, the man felt sure his fury could have burned down the whole of London. Or at least, the building in which MI6 resided.

Nursing his cup of tea, Harry considered his response carefully.

"So. You're telling me that MI6 blackmailed you, threatened and exploited you, took you out of school and sent you on a dozen life-threatening missions, nearly got you killed _multiple times_ and, on top of all that, refused to provide compensation."

Alex smiled wryly, fingering the edge of his own cup. "That's about right, yes."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

"That's right."

Harry fumed. Alex said nothing. The clock ticked loudly in their silence. At the entrance of the kitchen, Jack was leaning against the wall, arms folded and expression worried, watching them.

Finally, Harry said, "The next time they want you for a mission, tell me."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You think you can stop them?"

Harry met his challenge with a firm nod. "I _know_ I can stop them."

Alex snorted, his laughter an abrupt, sharp sound. "And why should I believe you?"

Harry's answer, when it came, was slow and measured. "I'm head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That's a bit like being head of both MI5 and the police. I have friends in very high places. Also, your Prime Minister is scared of me."

Jack's eyes had grown wider with each sentence, but Alex only looked thoughtful.

"Harry," said Jack after a moment, "I really don't know whether to be mad that you've lied to me for so long, or excited. But for the record—" And here, her words turned playfully adamant. "—I did always know that magic was real."

"Of course," said Harry. He smiled softly, recognizing her attempt at levity for what it was. Then he sighed and stood, bringing his cup to the sink and rinsing it out. The conversation seemed to have run its course, and it was getting late.

"I should get going," he told the other two. They nodded, and as Harry passed Jack, she reeled him in to plant a brief kiss on his lips.

"Thank you," she said.

Harry fitted a hand gently beneath her chin. "Someday, I'll show you guys the Wizarding world. I think you'll enjoy it."

. . .

They did enjoy it—specifically, Diagon Alley—very much, but their anonymity didn't last long. An intrepid reporter happened upon them in Flourish and Blotts and tried to take their picture, and Harry, angling himself to shield the two Muggles, found himself dreading the next day's headlines. When he finally turned back to Jack and Alex, they were regarding him with astonishment and calculation, respectively.

Jack recovered to raise a speculative eyebrow at him. "Is there something you aren't telling us?"

And thus he was wrangled into giving them a blow-by-blow recount of his entire childhood. The only good that came out of it was that he'd finally managed to impress Alex.

Of course, Jack claimed the next logical step was to meet all of Harry's friends and adopted family. Fittingly, the first person they met was Draco Malfoy.

The circumstances of this meeting, however, were less than ideal. Their introduction occurred while Alex and Jack were visiting Harry's flat for the first time (there'd never been much need to, but Harry was nevertheless excited about their visit) and while Draco and his family were experiencing their first major crisis (of which there would be three, the latter termed The Crustacean Incident and The Crustacean Incident Redux).

"Potter!" yelled Draco's floating head from the fireplace, startling Jack into giving a yelp and Alex into springing from his seat on the sofa, no doubt ready to disarm and disable the perceived threat.

Harry calmed them both before answering. "What?"

It looked like Draco was sweating, but it was hard to tell through the crackling flames. His voice was borderline hysterical. "Astoria's going into labor, and I'm stuck in Namibia with no way out! They say the Portkeys aren't operating because of a magical storm, and they're refusing to let me Apparate cross-continentally without paperwork! That could take _days!"_

Harry stood and paced to the fireplace. "Did you tell them it's a—"

"Of course I told them it's an emergency—are you being deliberately obtuse? These bastards are worse about bureaucratic policy than the bloody Ministry, I swear! And worse, I've literally got nothing but the clothes on my back, my wand, and my emergency communications powder! I can't even _bribe _the people here, for Merlin's sake!"

"Well—" Harry thought quickly. "Have you considered taking a black market Portkey?"

"I wouldn't trust those with my life even if they existed here! But I'm in the bloody middle of nowhere right now, Potter! Just dirt for miles around!"

"What're you even doing there?" Harry asked.

"It's DoM stuff, irrelevant!" barked Draco. "What's important is that I'm going to be stuck here while my wife _delivers our child on a different continent!_ Oh Merlin, what if some sleazy scumbag takes advantage of my absence to hold her hand through her delivery, woo her while she's hyped up on potions, and steal my firstborn son to raise as his own? Astoria's going to decapitate me, I just know it!"

"Draco—" And Harry was trying very hard not to laugh because this wasn't funny at all. "Perhaps you're being a bit dramatic here."

"Dramatic? _Dramatic? _I'll show you dramatic, Potter, I—"

But before the onslaught of the tirade, Alex spoke up. "If he can find out his GPS coordinates, Harry, I can get him on a chopper to the nearest major city with a working Portkey."

It was strange to hear the foreign terminology coming from Alex, yet even stranger to consider his offer. Harry gave Alex a shrewd look as Draco breathed heavily in the background, worked up from his rant.

"You can do that?" asked Harry.

"A couple people owe me favors," Alex said, waving away the question. "I can get your friend out of Namibia. But getting him through customs without a passport is up to you."

Draco addressed Alex directly for the first time. "Child, that's what magic's for."

Instead of being insulted by the diminutive address, Alex seemed amused. "I'll go make the calls now."

Three hours later, Draco was back on English soil and Alex had gained a lifelong ally.

. . .

The other introductions made to Alex and Jack weren't quite so high-octane.

Hermione adopted the two Muggles immediately, sympathetic to their culture shock. Ginny got on famously with Jack, and both were amused at their superficial likeness. At times Harry suspected they were plotting against him. Everyone adored Alex, but most especially Teddy, who regarded the older boy as a long lost brother.

"So this is the duo you've been abandoning us for," was all Ron said, grinning. "I'll admit, you could've done worse."

Molly insisted on over-feeding the two each time they visited the Burrow (Alex, in a rare display of teenage banality, hailed it as the "coolest place ever"), and the Muggles soon became a permanent fixture at their Sunday dinners. Arthur was already asking when Harry would propose, and George's favorite pastime became teasing Harry about the benefits of a newly established love life. The Daily Prophet ran speculative pieces—always entitled something trite like "Harry's New Family?" or a variation thereof—every few weeks when they couldn't find a better topic to print.

To escape all the hubbub, Harry began taking Jack (and Alex when he was available) to assorted magical spots he enjoyed, casting glamours when necessary. On the first Friday in May, he finally got around to showing Jack the Forbidden Forest. And in a field not far from Hagrid's new hut, under a sky of the brightest stone blue, Jack fell in love.

With thestrals.

Harry politely refrained from asking whose death she had witnessed. Seeing her eyes glazed with the luster of infatuation, he was suitably horrified to discover the macabre side of his girlfriend.

When he expressed this sentiment, Jack only insisted, "But they're so beautiful. Can we ride one?"

Faced with her wide, pleading gaze, Harry realized he couldn't say no. His weak smile turned into a full-on stare as Jack whooped, swinging deftly onto the back of the creature she'd been petting.

She shrugged when she glimpsed his expression. "I used to ride horses back in Virginia all the time. Now c'mon."

Gingerly, he fumbled on and placed his hands around her waist, feeling like a bungling passenger on the back of a Vespa. He found himself inundated by a slough of sense memories from fifth year, and caught his breath just in time to have it escape the next moment, as Jack urged the creature forward.

Before he could even blink, they were flying. Jack's ebullient laughter danced in the air around them, and inadvertently Harry found himself grinning too. Her happiness was infectious.

They gained altitude quickly, and Harry nudged her in the direction of the castle.

"You see there? That's Hogwarts. We passed by it earlier, but I've always thought it looked best from the air."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah—" It really was, its stonework regal and its spires and turrets extending high into the sky. "It sustained a lot of damage during the last battle, but you can't even tell now."

"I can't imagine what it would've been like to go to school there."

Harry thought back to his school days and swallowed around a lump of nostalgia. "It was pretty magical."

Jack laughed. "Good one."

Harry grinned.

He pointed out the various parts of the castle before directing her around the school grounds, exaggerating the part of a tour guide as he shared anecdotes from his childhood. Jack was a good listener, injecting her own stories by whim. He told her about sneaking around the school at night, and she in turn told him about stealing into the boy's locker rooms. He revealed a tale of dodging the caretaker Filch, and she traded one of hiding from the principle after a prank gone right. It was interesting to hear the disparities between their lives; and at one point, Jack became so enraged that she'd had to wake up at six every morning for school, unlike Harry, that he was almost afraid she'd fall off the thestral.

"But the injustice!" she railed, gesticulating wildly for an unseen audience. "How is it fair that the rest of the world goes to school at a reasonable time, while we have to get up at an absolutely _ungodly _hour of the morning?"

Harry tried to stifle a laugh. He patted her shoulder, though he was certain it would be no comfort, and said, "You realize you aren't going to school anymore, right?"

Jack gave him a look. "That's beside the point."

Harry only shook his head. He'd long resigned himself to losing most of his arguments with her; and Alex, early on, had informed him that no one messed with Jack. It was refreshing.

"Oh, what's happening over there?" Jack drew his attention again, gesturing to a column of bright red sparks bursting up from the far side of the lake.

Harry frowned, recognizing them, before catching sight of a dozen similar sparks going up around the school. He realized then. "They're distress signals. The older students are practicing them for Defense. They're good for alerting people to an emergency, and we use them a lot during rescue and retrieval missions."

He watched as Jack contemplated these words, her brows furrowed. He waited patiently for her to share what was on her mind. At length he was rewarded:

"I wish Alex could do that. Send out distress signals, I mean. He's a trouble magnet." She sighed. "But knowing him, even if he had the ability he wouldn't use it, 'cause he's such a martyr. And if he did— " She gave a little laugh. "—no one would respond."

She shrugged lightly, but Harry sensed her turned mood. He tightened his arms around her and tucked his chin on her shoulder, thinking.

For high-risk missions, the DMLE always outfitted its agents with tracking charms, but sometimes they used the charm full-time on people who were constantly at risk. And "at risk" applied to Alex aptly.

Of course, tracking him would infringe upon his privacy, and Harry respected and understood that Alex wouldn't want that... But he began to wonder, nevertheless, whether he could tailor a charm to suit Alex's needs but also to satisfy his own desire to keep the boy safe.

Alex, as he'd learned over the past months, was a walking target, and by extension Jack was always in danger too. Harry couldn't imagine how he'd feel if something bad happened to either of them, and he was left knowing he'd had a way to prevent it.

And tracking charms weren't so bad, were they? They were standard fare among magical parents, and the Weasleys' clock was a prime example of that. If Harry could customize the charms to alert him only when Jack or Alex were at the Royal & General (assuming that if harm were to befall them, MI6 would inevitably be involved) it wouldn't be so much a violation as a precautionary measure.

After he and Jack returned from their outing, he went directly to Draco's office. Perhaps he knew subconsciously that, of all his friends, the Slytherin would be least likely to shoot down his idea.

Draco listened to him quietly. When Harry finished, the other man took his feet down from where they were propped on his desk and sat forward.

His expression was shrewd as he said, "You're quite invested in these two, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged helplessly, not really desiring to contemplate those words, and Draco sighed. "I can help you with the charm—you'll want to factor in long distance accuracy, among other details—but I won't recommend that you ask Jack or Alex for their permission first."

'_They'll say no'_ went unspoken. Harry smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't planned to."

If anything, Draco's face grew even shrewder for a second before he barked out a laugh. "My, my, Potter! Weasley's worries weren't unfounded! I _am _a bad influence on you."

Harry shrugged again and refrained from admitting that there had always been a bit of Slytherin inside of him.

. . .

The weekend that Harry decided to test out the remixed tracking charm wasn't ideal, since he had agreed to take care of Teddy. But he figured that if Alex ran into them the boy would be too distracted by Teddy's presence to suspect a noncoincidence. To Harry's relief, when he checked the tracker, it displayed that Alex was at a cinema. That was perfect, because Harry had planned to take Teddy to see a film anyway.

As soon as they entered the premises, Teddy bounded away to buy the tickets. Harry stayed back, watching him while scanning the lobby.

Huddled around a bench not far away was a group of kids who appeared to be waiting for someone. One of the boys shifted, and Harry briefly glimpsed Alex in the center of the group, looking exasperated beyond his years.

"Time for the truth to come out, mate—is he your drug dealer?" the boy who had moved was asking Alex. Harry watched on, mildly confused, as everyone erupted into giggles. Even Alex cracked a reluctant smile.

"Oh, no, no, no, I've got it," said one of the girls. "He's the older boyfriend, right?"

Laughter all around. Harry frowned, wondering whom they were discussing.

"It's all right, Alex, we'll fully support you," a different boy added, with a face so grave it sent the group into paroxysm.

"Thanks, guys," said Alex solemnly, playing along.

At that moment, a tug at Harry's sleeve diverted his attention away from the kids.

Teddy was grinning up at him. "I got them." He was holding up a bucket of popcorn and two tickets in proud offering to Harry.

"Great, let's go." Harry pushed himself off the wall, where he'd been leaning innocuously, and allowed his godson to take the lead. Coincidentally, their trek through the cinema's lobby took them straight by Alex & Co.

Alex's friends, when Harry glanced over, were staring at them in silent horror. Automatically, he reached up to rearrange his fringe.

Alex cleared his throat. "Hey, Harry. Hey, Teddy."

For some reason, the greeting only seemed to horrify Alex's friends further. A moment later, Harry realized why. The most logical reason for their reaction was that they'd been teasing Alex about _him. _Harry had indeed been spending more time with Alex, and by default he must have been seen with the boy a lot.

Harry James Potter: Wizard? Check. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord? Check. Drug Dealer and Creepy Older Boyfriend? Check and check.

To be fair, it really wasn't his fault. Hanging out with Alex came with the territory of dating Jack.

"Hey," he greeted, while Teddy opted for the more hands-on approach of barreling into Alex's arms. Alex, laughing, ruffled Teddy's hair and inquired about the film they were seeing. Teddy took up the gauntlet eagerly, flailing his hands around as he described the synopsis with what appeared to be new-aged interpretive dance.

Finally, as the film would be starting soon and Teddy never liked to miss the previews, Harry peeled the boy away. "I'll see you on Sunday?" he asked Alex.

Alex nodded. "See you then. Bye, Teddy."

Teddy said his goodbye, and Harry walked away with the boy skipping at his side. Before they were out of earshot, though, Harry heard one of the girls squeal:

"Your boyfriend has a _kid? _An _adorable _kid, no less?_"_

Harry grinned. It was a pity he couldn't hear the reply, but he wouldn't be turning down the opportunity to rib Alex about this later. Beyond that, he deemed the tracking charm a success. If Alex were ever to get into trouble, Harry would now be able to help.

to be continued

* * *

><p><em>In Part Two: things get serious, Wolf makes an appearance, and there's an excursion to Paris. Thanks for reading so far, and please review!<em>

_*IDK if this book exists; my intention was to use as abstruse a title as possible._


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